Delicate
by parismylove
Summary: "We might kiss when we are alone. When nobody's watching, we might take it home... We might make out when nobody's there. It's not that we're scared. It's just that it's delicate." A O/S based on a song. E/B. Rated M.


**A/N:** Well, hello, lovely readers! I'm back after completing FYA with a new O/S. Don't fear, the new story I promised is on its way, but this was always coming first.

Someone once told me that ideas for new fics will just hit you sometimes. And boy did this one. My real life friend sent me an album a while back by the amazing Damien Rice, and I fell in love. This story is a result of hearing a song on this album only once. I hope you enjoy it. Below is the link to the song which is featured.

_"Delicate" by Damien Rice:_ **http:/www[.]youtube[.]com/watch?v=qeGChOUqQuk**

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Delicate**

"Thank you," I whispered into the microphone, leaning over so that I could take a drink from my glass on the bar stool next to me, having just finished another song.

The crowd was larger tonight than it normally was. Patrons crammed into far dark corners and overflowed the smaller round tables with too many chairs and too many drinks. They were loud between songs, almost deafeningly so, as each tried to talk over the other. But once I touched my fingers back to the guitar strings, they were immersed once again. Silent. Watchful. Carried away.

It was like... magic.

And I was the magician.

For three years, my closest friends from college and I had been coming to this bar every Friday night. There was no discussion anymore. We didn't plan or make phone calls to check meet-up times. We just did it. When the work week, formerly the school week, ended, each and every one of us made our way here at ten o'clock on the dot after the sun had gone down. Like always, they were here again tonight.

Jasper and Rosalie Hale were the twins, both sporting matching southern drawls and naturally blonde hair; his curly and chin-length, hers straight and halfway down her back. He was polite and chivalrous, always opening doors and pulling out chairs. She was loud and obnoxious yet fiercely loyal.

Emmett McCarty could always be found at Rosalie's side. Though huge and intimidating at first glance, this man was whipped by this statuesque blonde that had him by the balls most times of the day. It suited him well, though. She kept him in line, and he loved her for it.

Just as he was always next to her, Alice Brandon could always be found cuddled with Jasper. Southern gentleman meets fairy princess. Alice, though twenty-four like the rest of us, was what people called "tiny." Towering in at a whopping four-feet eleven-inches even, not a hair taller or shorter, she was the runt of the litter. But it made us love her more for it.

Then there was Bella Swan. My best friend.

"I think I've got enough time for one more song before the next performer is set to come on," I spoke into the mic again after checking my watch.

"_I'll Be Your Lover, Too!"_ a woman shouted, requesting a song.

Shielding my eyes, I squinted out into the mass of people and found the trusty booth that we always sat at directly in front of me, filled with the usual five plus one. "It's time to tab out, Rose. I played that two songs ago."

"_Stray Dog!"_

"_I Was Broken!"_

Songs were being tossed at me from all directions, all ones they knew I played and played well, but I wasn't looking for suggestions.

"I've got a new one for you guys tonight before I sign off," I replied, instantly quietening them down without even asking for the favor as my fingers began to strum and pick at the strings.

My eyes traveled their usual path, following the straight line of the weathered hardwood flooring to her bouncing pale foot, clad in high heels that accentuated every slight curve of her long, lean legs. When her legs stopped, her dress started, sweeping over the swell of her hips and down into her slim waist, not stopping until the sweetheart neckline of her dress highlighted her cleavage.

As with every other time, the people, the hushed noises, the clinking of glasses... it all disappeared. Everything but the music and her. My best friend.

_We might kiss when we are alone  
When nobody's watching  
We might take it home  
_

"Come here," I whispered in the dark, taking her hesitating hand and flattening it against my chest over the place that beat wildly inside of me. Her feet followed the short distance I had pulled her hand, bringing the toes of her shoes to rest at the sides of the toes of mine.

_We might make out when nobody's there  
It's not that we're scared  
It's just that it's delicate_

"It's me," I reminded her. "Forget about everything else for an hour. Just be... be with _me_."

I studied her face, her shoulders, her body. I felt her breaths, her pulse, her shivers. She was terrified. Terrified of her feelings and of me and of what she was doing. Terrified that she wouldn't stop or couldn't stop when she had to. But she sunk anyways, and when she did, falling into me, giving into our needs, her needs, I wrapped her in my hungry arms and molded her body against mine in desperation.

"Make love to me, Edward," she whimpered against my neck, holding onto my skin as I carried her weakened body into the bedroom. "One last time. Make me forget..."

_So why'd you fill my sorrow  
With the words you've borrowed  
From the only place you've known  
And why'd you sing Hallelujah  
If it means nothing to you  
Why do you sing with me at all?_

There was no time for teasing. There was no time for taking time. Our time was running out, ticking away second by second until she was gone. And she _would_ be gone. Not mine in this way. Not mine in any way. Simply a distant memory of what once was... of what we could have had.

"Please," I begged, sliding into her, feeling her walls stretch around me, feeling her pull me inside with a heat and a comfort that rocked me to my core.

Only she had been able to do that. Only her. And it was every time.

"Please don't do it, Bella."

_We might live like never before  
When there's nothing to give  
Well how can we ask for more  
We might make love in some sacred place  
The look on your face is delicate_

Her chest jerked against mine with the gravity of our disgrace, her tears shining in the moonlight streaming through my window. It was a rare sight, something I'd witnessed only a few times since we'd met, but underneath me in that moment of surrender, she was breakable.

She was breakable... but I was already broken.

Another tear trailed down her skin, and I followed its descent with my eyes... the same eyes that the tear had fallen from.

_So why do you fill my sorrow  
With the words you've borrowed  
From the only place that you've known  
And why'd you sing Hallelujah  
If it means nothing to you  
Why'd you sing with me at all?_

Her skin, once creamy and soft, was now flushed pink, the heat and stickiness of it feeling right against my own. She was falling apart, crumbling in my arms, succumbing to the sensation of me pumping deeply inside of her to the place only I could find.

I knew how she liked to make love. Heavy and absorbed. Forgetful and fluid. I knew how she liked to fuck. Exhausting and hard. Unyielding and dirty. That was how I liked it, too. Soft or rough, she made me feel alive when I had her this way.

When we moved, we moved like we'd been doing this our entire lives. Tonight, though, was different than all the other times before. The unadulterated need was still there. She wouldn't be underneath of me, letting me take her, if it wasn't. But every motion meant something else. It was driving toward a different goal.

Every thrust was a plea. Every kiss was a promise. Every stare was an apology.

Couldn't she feel that? Couldn't she taste it on my tongue? Couldn't she see it in my eyes?

_This_ was the way it always should have been. Six years of denied opportunities followed by one night of dropping our guards and forgetting who we were created _this_. _This_ was worth giving up her supposedly perfect life.

_This... this_ was the magic.

She couldn't do it.

"I'm begging you."

_So why'd you fill my sorrow  
With the words you've borrowed  
From the only place that you've known  
And why do you sing Hallelujah  
If it means nothing to ya  
Why do you sing with me at all?_

Once my fingers left the strings, I leaned over and grabbed my glass from the bar stool again and raised it in the air, angling it toward the booth. Her eyes told the whole story right then and there better than my poetry ever could on this stage, but nobody else could read her like I could, including the man with his arm around her on the back of the booth.

"To my best friend on the night before her wedding," I spoke, diverting my eyes from the large sparkling ring on her finger that always felt cold and unnatural under my touch when I took it off her left hand. "You are the light in the darkness. You are the bold in the dullness. You are the everything in the nothingness. And I wish you nothing but happiness. Congratulations."

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**Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought!**

My new story "I Love You More" will start posting soon. I'm several chapters in and am comfortable with what I have written so far. It's going to be fun!

Also, if you're interested, check out my past stories "For You, Anything" which I completed in January, and a O/S that I wrote a few months ago. They can be found in profile.


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